


Copperhead

by stingings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Slytherin Common Room, Slytherin Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stingings/pseuds/stingings
Summary: Ginny Weasley gets sorted into Slytherin and it's the worst thing in the world. Until it isn't.  And then maybe it is again.Can Draco and Ginny ever stop fighting and be friends? Could they ever be more? Or is the pull of fate too strong for them to overcome?classic Slytherin!Ginny AU, basically follows the major plot points of the books from CoS onwards.  Be warned, Draco is a little shit to begin with. Rated T for now.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first time I've written any Harry Potter fic, although I've been a longtime lurker of D/G stories. I've been sitting on this idea for a story for a long time and I know there are lots of amazing stories based on the same premise, but I'm just so intrigued by it that I had to try for myself and have a lot of time on my hands these days! It's been an extremely long time since I've written a multi-chap fic and so I apologize in advance for any weird pacing, as well as the for the abundance of accidental encounters in the common room.  
> 
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy, please leave a review & subscribe if you do!

Ginny Weasley could barely take in the room before her without feeling ill.The Slytherin common room had none of the cozy charm that her family had described when telling her about Gryffindor Tower. It was dark, with an eerie green light radiating from underwater windows. There were no squashy armchairs in sight, only uncomfortable-looking, sleek leather sofas. A fire was lit in a large hearth, but it didn’t seem to impart any warmth to the room, only a menacing grandeur.It certainly didn’t match up to any idea of home that Ginny had ever had. It certainly was nothing like the Burrow, with its hodgepodge architecture and welcoming array of mismatched furniture. _But it was home, now_ , she thought, whether she wanted it to be or not. 

She wasn’t given longer to look around, as first year girls were hurried out by their female prefect, and ushered into their dormitory, leaving the older students behind.Their dormitory was the first room off to the right, and was lined by enormous four poster beds with heavy green curtains, and was cast in the same green light from the underwater windows as the common room.Several large, ornate mirrors hung from the walls, giving the illusion that the room was bigger than it was—no room for high ceilings in a dungeon. Ginny’s trunk was at the foot of one of the beds, tiny and shabby looking compared to the other girls’ things, with her initials painted proudly onto the lid in red and gold. She winced.

Ginny hadn’t even bothered to notice who her housemates were yet; she hadn’t spoken to anyone at the feast, and she had been so shocked by the sorting that she couldn’t even remember their names, though they had all been sorted before her. None of them seemed particularly upset to be in Slytherin. 

_Slytherin_. She repeated the name over and over in her head as she tried to make it seem real.Her family wouldn’t want her anymore, they would see her as a traitor—a blood traitor, even. It was a horrible thought, and Ginny tried to hold back her tears. The other Slytherins, she thought, probably hated her as much as her brothers would, if the altercation between the Malfoy’s and her family in Diagon Alley a few days before was anything to go on. 

“It’s a bit spooky in here, don’t you think?” said one of the girls, and Ginny jumped, drawn out of her thoughts. The girl who spoke was wide eyed behind thick framed glasses, her dark hair braided neatly down back.

“If you’re scared of the dark, Mildred, maybe they’ll let you sleep in the Hufflepuff dormitories. I’m sure they’d let you have a night light in there,” said a haughty looking girl with dark hair and very finely cut features. 

“I’m not scared of the dark, Hestia” said Mildred, crossing her arms defensively. 

“Of course you’re not,” came a reply from across the room, from a girl who was identical to the Hestia, down to her cold tone of voice. 

“Oh please, let’s not start arguing already,” another girl said, looking bored as she let down her curly blonde hair from its ponytail, and tossed her outer robes on the floor, “I’m exhausted and you’re going to give me a migraine.”

“Alright then, Amy,” said Hestia, her voice tinged with condescension, “Let’s all be friends.”

“Yes, _friends_. Well, we all met at the feast, so no need for introductions,” said her twin, a nasty smile on her face as she rounded on Ginny, “Except for you, Weasley. I know who you are, of course, but we’ve never had the…pleasure…of being introduced. I’m Flora Carrow. This is my sister, Hestia. Our parents are strictly against us fraternizing with blood traitors.”

Ginny felt her cheeks flare in embarrassment and rage. Carrow, that name was familiar. Yes, her father had mentioned it before in passing, talking about the war. 

“Yes, well my family has a strict ‘no fraternizing with Death Eaters’ policy,” Ginny replied coolly, and the room went completely silent.

“Brave, aren’t you Weasley?” said Hestia, her eyes filled with rage, “It’s a wonder they didn’t stick you in Gryffindor with the rest of your lot. It would certainly smell far better in here if you were there.”

Clenching her wand tightly, Ginny tried to calm herself down—it would be bad for her to hex someone on her first night at school. What if they kicked her out? Would that shame her parents more than her being in Slytherin? Or would it be a blessing for them?

“Now Hestia,” squeaked Mildred, “Let’s not fight on the first night. Everyone’s tired. We can all be civil tomorrow.”

“Quite right,” concurred Amy, who turned to Ginny, “I’m Amy Frome. And that’s Mildred Peebles,” she gestured at the glasses-wearing girl, “We live quite near each other, so we’ve met before tonight.And now that we _all_ know each other, I think it’s time I turn in.”

With that, Amy flopped onto her bed and pulled the curtains shut around her.

Hestia and Flora were still glaring at Ginny, and Mildred was trying to busy herself unpacking her trunk, avoiding eye contact with all three of them. Ginny flashed a smile that was more like a grimace at the twins, who did not return it, and began to unpack her things as well, trying to keep her head from spinning. 

—

Several hours later, Ginny was still awake.She was filled with a pulsating anxiety that threatened to spill over into a full blown panic at any moment.Unable to stay in bed any longer, she quietly pulled back the curtains, grabbed her diary and quill, and tiptoed back to the common room. She sat down on a couch that was such a dark shade of green it was nearly black, and found that it was more comfortable than it had looked on the way in. Tucking her knees underneath her, she opened the diary. It was, like nearly everything she owned, second hand, belonging once to a T.M. Riddle, but this Riddle had never seen the need to write in it, so she figured that for all intents and purposes, it might as well be new. It was funny, she hadn’t remembered anyone picking the diary out in Flourish and Blotts, but maybe she had just forgotten about it, preoccupied with all the mayhem between her family and the Malfoy’s. Her mother had often told her that she should keep a record of her memories at Hogwarts, that she would one day be nostalgic enough about her school days to want to look back through pages of daily notes and confessions. She doubted that she would ever want to relive this night, though.But there was no one to talk to, and she had to get it all out. Ginny began to write. 

_Where to begin? This is possibly the worst day I’ve ever had. I was sorted into Slytherin. Slytherin! Can you believe it? I’ll be disowned by Mum and Dad, if Ron doesn't murder me first. I hid from Fred and George after the feast, but who knows how long I can avoid them. I can’t believe I’m here, in the dungeon, surrounded by the children of_ Death Eaters _. The hat said I had a desire to prove myself, to be known. That my pride and ambition would make me a good Slytherin. But I just want to make make my family happy._

She stopped writing, noticing that something strange was happening to the ink in the diary. The words were slowly sinking into the paper.Maybe it was enchanted to be a secret diary, one that you had to perform some sort of charm or something in order to read its contents. Ginny returned her pen to the paper and was about to continue writing when words began to appear on the page, and they weren’t the ones she had written. 

_Don’t be upset. Being in Slytherin is not the end of the world._

Ginny sat there, stunned for a moment. She was immediately suspicious; after all, her father had always warned her never to trust something that thinks if you can’t see where its brain is kept. And yet, a curious, warm feeling was creeping into the back of her mind, gentling urging her to keep writing. 

_Who are you?_

The writing disappeared faster this time. 

_My name is Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I was at Hogwarts many years ago. This was my diary. And who, might I ask, are you?_

Ginny was much less hesitant this time, her suspicions dwindling faster and faster, though she couldn’t say why. She felt warm, full. 

_I’m Ginny Weasley. And Weasley’s are_ not _Slytherins._

_I was a Slytherin,_ Tom wrote, _I found a home there when I had never truly known one before. A home, a new identity for myself.Maybe you will do the same_. 

_Maybe…_

“What are you doing out of bed Weasley?” came a drawling voice from the doorway. 

Ginny looked up, snapping her diary shut. It was Draco Malfoy. 

“None of your business, Malfoy.”

“Writing your suicide note there?” he sneered, “Better to get it done yourself than wait for your family to get ahold of you.”

Ginny glared at him. 

“Why are _you_ out of bed, Malfoy?”

“None of your business,” he parroted back to her in a high pitched voice that she supposed was meant to mimic her own. 

He crossed the room towards her, surveying her curled up in her old Holyhead Harpies pajamas and snorted. 

“You know, just because for some reason the Sorting Hat deemed you fit to be in Slytherin, it doesn’t mean you truly belong here,” he said, “You might as well be a mudblood, for all the blood traitors in your family.”

Ginny recoiled at his use of the slur. She knew from Ron that Malfoy was foul, but to use that word…that was something else. Malfoy noticed her shock and laughed. 

“Get used to it, Weasley.Things are different here in Slytherin than they are in your family’s precious Gryffindor.” 

“Just go away, Malfoy,” she said lamely, “As you can see I’m miserable enough without your help.”

He laughed again. 

“I expected more fight from you. It’s not even your first day of class and you’re already broken. Pathetic little weasel.”

Ginny could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she would not let Malfoy make her cry.She had six older brothers. She could handle teasing, even if usually it was not this mean-spirited. She had six older brothers and she knew how to fight. 

She raised her wand to hex Malfoy. 

“Miss Weasley, unless you wish to see Slytherin in negative house points before you’ve even attended a single class, it would be wise for you to lower your wand and spare Mr. Malfoy whatever hex you had planned for him,” came the low voice of Professor Snape, emerging from the darkness to separate the two students. 

Slowly, she lowered her wand, still glaring. Malfoy grinned triumphantly. 

“And Mr. Malfoy, I would remind you that second year Slytherins begin their week bright and early with potions, so if you do not wish to oversleep it would be prudent for you to return to your bed.”

It was Ginny’s turn to smirk. She had not expected Snape to tell Malfoy off as well—according to Ron, he was Snape’s favorite pupil. 

Glaring once more at Ginny, Malfoy sulked off back to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Ginny alone with Snape.

“Miss Weasley, your entry into Slytherin house is as unexpected to me as it is to everyone else. While I am sure that your brothers have spun you many tales about this house, its students, and perhaps even myself, I urge you to begin your time here with an open mind. Now, I must insist that you return to your dormitory as well,” Snape said, and Ginny could only nod. 

She left the common room, feeling confused, angry, and at last, tired enough to go to bed.She crawled into her four poster bed, closing the curtains around her and fell asleep, though it was not a restful night. Her dreams were full of snakes. 

—

When Ginny woke the next morning,she was unsure of where she was.As her head cleared and the events of the previous night came back to her, she felt the dreadful knot in her stomach return.Pulling back the green curtains, she found the dormitory empty. It seemed all the other girls had already headed to breakfast, without a thought to wake her. 

She dressed quickly, and made her way to the Great Hall. As she entered, she heard, to her shock and horror, the voice of her mother, booming out for everyone to hear. 

“YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT, AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.” 

An inquiry at work? Surely not, Ginny thought. Why would he be facing an inquiry at work? 

“Sounds like the rumor that Weasley and Potter flew a car up from London last night is true,” a passing Ravenclaw said to her friend. 

Relief flooded Ginny’s body, only to be momentarily replaced by more confusion, and fear, since if that Howler had been directed at Ron, that meant he must be in the hall somewhere.She hurried to the Slytherin table, trying to avoid the sightline of any of her brothers.Snape was passing out schedules, so she hid amongst the crowd of students gathered around him until she had hers, and then made a B-line for the exit before she could be intercepted by anyone. 

“Ginny!” shouted Ron, chasing after her, “Oi! Stop running away!” 

He caught up to her and, to her mortification, she saw that half the hall was watching them from afar, while Harry and Hermione hung back a few paces to give the siblings some semblance of privacy.Ginny could feel her face turning bright red, and tried to use whatever nonverbal sibling communication existed between the two of them to will Ron not to make a scene. 

“Ginny, what happened?” he asked, his face incredulous at her Slytherin garb, “Fred said that you’d been sorted into…that you’re not in Gryffindor! Why aren’t you in Gryffindor?”

“I don’t know, Ron. The hat put me in Slytherin, I tried to stop it but I couldn’t,” Ginny replied quietly, remembering the night before, how the panic had risen in her chest as it became clear to her what the hat was going to do. 

“The hat let Harry choose,” Ron said accusatorially, “And he _chose_ not to be in Slytherin.” 

“Well, good for Harry then,” she muttered, her eyes flashing to where he stood with Hermione behind Ron, both of them pointedly trying not to look at the arguing Weasley’s. She had thought about Harry last night, when she was trying to fall asleep; all those fantasias she had concocted over the summer, of how he would get to know her while they spent time in the Gryffindor common room together, how he would fall in love with her, they were gone now.He probably thought that something was wrong with her too, now. 

“Do you think I _wanted_ to be put in Slytherin, Ron?” Ginny continued hotly, her voice beginning to rise, “That I wanted to go somewhere that I knew would make you and the rest of our family angry? Somewhere full of people who _hate_ us? Why would I _ask_ to be put in Slytherin?”

“We’ll go to Dumbledore and sort it out, you can’t be in Slytherin, surrounded by all those…those Slytherins!,” he said fervently.

“We can’t go to Dumbledore,” she said, “The sorting hat sorts you once.It doesn’t change it’s mind.” 

“Well I don’t care! My little sister is not going to be a Slytherin!” Ron shouted, his cheeks flaring full of color. 

“It’s too late, Weasley,” came Draco Malfoy’s drawling voice, and both siblings looked at him, their faces flushed with anger, “She’s already a Slytherin, whether we wanted her or not. Though I have to say, it’s not very becoming of a tolerant, muggle-loving Gryffindor to disown their own sister for simply being sorted into a better house than them.”

Ginny did a double take, then registered the insult hidden within the defense, and the filled with a deep suspicion about why Malfoy would defend her against her brother. 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron snarled, and took a step towards him, his hands balling into fists. 

“Language, Mr. Weasley!” snapped Professor McGonagall, who was exiting the hall, “Now, don’t you have a lesson with Professor Sprout you need to be getting to? She has some brand new Mandrakes that need repotting, so you best be on your way.”

Ron glowered at Malfoy and looked at Ginny with a pained, angry expression before storming off, followed by Harry and Hermione, who both gave Ginny concerned and uneasy smiles. 

Ginny rounded on Malfoy. 

“I don’t need your help, thanks,” she said, “And if you were trying to help me, there’s no need to insult my family while you do it.”

“Your family insults itself,” Malfoy replied nonchalantly, “And if they’re going to reject you for this, then you might want to start looking for some friends in Slytherin.”

He walked off, leaving Ginny to move awkwardly out of the way of all the gawking students leaving the Great Hall for their first day of classes. 

—

All in all, Ginny’s first week at Hogwarts was pretty miserable. The Slytherins wouldn’t talk to her, and although Mildred and Amy seemed alright, Flora and Hestia were so horrible that Ginny avoided their dormitory as much as possible. She was also avoiding her brothers, after her confrontation with Ron, hoping to avoid another embarrassing scene in front of the school. Fairly adept at avoiding Percy (she had perfected this after Percy received the news that he would be a prefect the year before), Fred and George were harder to dodge, as they had the most uncanny knack for finding her unexpectedly in random corridors.

Hermione had tried to speak to her once as well, with Harry standing awkwardly to the side, and Ginny had gone as red as her hair before bolting from the library, leaving the two of them standing open-mouthed at their desks. 

Occasionally she would have to interact with Malfoy, who seemed intent on tormenting her about everything from her parents and clothes, to her apparently obvious crush on Harry Potter and her choice of quidditch team to support. Still, at least there were no more instances of public humiliation that he had to intervene in, or that she had to endure. 

All of this she wrote in her diary, and to her elation, Tom wrote back, soothing her and assuring her that this miserable period would pass. How pathetic was that, she thought, that her only friend in the entire school wasn’t even a real person?Still, she felt better when she was writing to Tom, and even though she knew it was silly, it felt like he was taking care of her, somehow.It was as if the world didn’t exist when she was writing to him.All that mattered were the words on the page. Ginny must have spent hours on end writing to him, though when she tried to remember what exactly it was that she had written, or when she had written it, she couldn’t.

Things only got worse after the Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch teams clashed over their practice times. She hadn’t been there, but she knew Malfoy had called Hermione a mudblood, and she knew her brothers had all tried to attack him, and she knew that Ron’s spell had backfired and that he had made himself vomit slugs. After that incident, Malfoy had ribbed her about her “imbecilic, slug-eating oaf of a brother”, and she received her first letter from her parents. 

_Ginny dear,_

_We’re so sorry we didn’t write sooner, but as you can imagine, your father and I were quite shocked to hear that you were sorted into Slytherin. We’re not angry (although we gather that Ron has told you we would be) but we_ are _worried. Percy owled us to say that Ron attempted to hex Lucius Malfoy’s son, after he called Hermione that awful word. I know that he was not successful, but please be careful of Malfoy—his father is a governor at Hogwarts, and is very influential at the Ministry and if you get on his wrong side it might make life very difficult. We want you to make friends, and maybe it’s changed since our day (although we highly doubt it) but Slytherin is not the place to look.Please try talking to your brothers, we are sure that once you explain everything, they will come round to understand. We love and miss you very much, and hope that all your classes are going well._

_Love,_

_Mum & Dad_

_Well, at least they won’t have to worry about me making the wrong sort of friends in Slytherin, since no one here will even talk to me_ , Ginny thought bitterly. She tore the letter up and tossed it into the Slytherin common room fire, instantly regretting how malicious the act felt. 

She wrote about it to Tom, who was very sympathetic. At some point while she was writing, she lost track of what she was doing, and wandered back out into the castle, probably to ease her worried mind.She didn’t feel at ease, however, when she realized that she was outside the girls’ toilets on the second floor, with no memory of how she had arrived there. An unnatural coldness filled her body, and when Ginny reached to pull her robes more tightly around her, she realized that she still had the diary in her hand.This wasn’t the first time she had found herself somewhere without being able to remember getting there.

The knot of worry reformed in her stomach, and she began to walk as quickly as she could back to the Slytherin common room, praying that Filch was not on the prowl, since she had no idea what time it was and whether she was out of bed after hours or not. Her walk turned into a slow run, and as she was rounding the final corner to the entrance to the dungeons, Ginny ran straight into someone and went tumbling to the floor, the diary falling out of her hands. 

“Watch where you’re going, Weasley,” grumbled Malfoy, who was getting up from the floor, “What are you doing out so late anyways?”

“Mind your own business, Malfoy,” she spat, “What are you doing out so late without your lackeys?”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking around the castle by myself, Weasley,” he replied. 

His eyes widened with glee as he spotted Ginny’s diary on the ground, and he lunged forward, grabbing it before she could move.

“Oh what do we have here? What’re your secrets, Weasley? Mooning over Potter? Although I guess that one’s not really all that secret…”

Ginny’s face reddened and she moved to snatch the book back from him, but he held it out of her reach, and opened it. Malfoy’s mouth formed a confused little ‘o’, as he flicked through the pages, clearly hoping to find an embarrassing passage about all the beautiful little babies she hoped to have with Harry one day, or lamenting her rejection by her poor, impoverished family. 

“What’s this, Weasley? I’ve _seen_ you writing in this thing!”

“Maybe you were imagining things, Malfoy, as there clearly isn’t anything written there,” Ginny replied, a grim satisfaction in her voice. 

Even though there wasn’t anything in the book for Malfoy to see, she still felt desperately that she needed the book back. Having it gone from her filled her with a peculiar dread and emptiness that threatened to overwhelm her. 

Flipping through the pages once more, Malfoy tossed the diary back on the floor, and Ginny seized it. 

“I know that you’re hiding something, Weasley,” he said, taking a step towards her, “And I’m going to find out what.”

Glaring at Malfoy, who she was nearly toe to toe with, Ginny raised her wand, preparing to hex him. 

“Miss Weasley!” 

She spun around to see Snape striding down the corridor towards them, his black robes billowing as he walked.He was not smiling.

“Miss Weasley! This is the second time I have had to stop you from hexing Mr. Malfoy here.While I know that there is…animosity…between your families, I would ask that as you are both members of Slytherin house, that you remain civil to one another while you are at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, sir,” Ginny muttered. 

“And though I am loathe to take points from my own house, as this is the second time I have caught you attempting to hex Mr. Malfoy, I will have to take…five points from Slytherin,” he said, “And another five four being out after hours. Which means five from you as well, Mr. Malfoy.”

“But sir! I lost track of time and was just heading back to the common room!” Malfoy whined. 

“That’s enough,” he said, his tone final, “Both of you, to bed.” 

Snape waited until they had re-entered the common room before abandoning them. 

“I’ll get you back for this, Weasley,” growled Malfoy. 

“For what?” she asked incredulously, “ _I_ was the one who lost more points there and you _were_ out of bed after hours!” 

“Well, I wouldn’t have been caught if it weren’t for you.”

“Whatever, Malfoy,” she said, and stomped out of the common room, leaving Malfoy there to rage over lost points and ponder her blank diary. 

—

Miserable as Ginny was, time seemed to pass, if not quickly, then simply without her noticing.September transformed seamlessly into October, and before Ginny realized, it was nearly November. The days were blurry in her memory, as she wandered through the castle, finding herself in new places, unsure of how she had arrived there. Her brothers had tried to talk to her a few times, but she would pretend not to see or hear them, the glassy expression that covered her face only half an act.She felt absent, tired after dreaming of snakes night upon night.

Malfoy had mostly left her alone as well, aside from the occasional snide remark about her family, her clothes, or Harry. She tried to avoid Harry as well, since Ron was usually not far behind, and anyways, she was still too nervous to speak around him.Hermione’s sympathetic smiles were not unwelcome, but they didn’t really make her feel any better either.It was still only Tom who could comfort her, who could make her feel like she wasn’t some sort of abomination, a freak, or pariah.When she wasn’t writing in the diary, she was thinking about it—so often in fact that she could almost hear Tom in her head throughout the day.She dreamed about him sometimes; he always looked the same, though Ginny wasn’t sure how she could know what he looked like, and for some reason, in her sleep she didn’t find him as calming or reassuring as she did when she was writing to him.

It was after one particularly fitful night of sleep, in which Ginny had dreamed of an enormous serpent coiling around her in the dark, that she headed down to breakfast, again, later than the rest of her dormitory.When she arrived, it looked different than usual in the Great Hall, with large pumpkins levitating above the tables, the first of the Halloween decorations to go up before the feast that night. The rest of the Slytherin table was chatting excitedly about the feast, which was apparently always good fun. The chat continued into their lessons, where it seemed that hardly anyone was concentrating on what they were doing. 

Ginny couldn’t concentrate either, though it was not Halloween that was on her mind.She was thinking about Tom, who’s words were now extending beyond the confines of her diary regularly.He was in her head, speaking soothing words to her, urging her to relax. 

_Get out of the castle_ , he was telling her, _the fresh air will do you some good_. 

And so, rather than going to her two o’clock charms lesson, Ginny headed outdoors into the grounds.She passed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, on the way out, but didn’t stop to respond to their jeering questions.Malfoy’s confusion, just ever so slightly evident behind his sneer, was the last thing she could remember seeing. 

—

Ginny was sitting on her bed, curtains drawn around her. She had no idea how she had come to be there.Looking down at her hands, she noticed blood caked under her fingernails, and blanched.Was she hurt? Her head was foggy, but Ginny tried to take stock of her body, and when she surmised that she wasn’t injured, and that it therefore wasn’t her blood, she felt sick. _Whose blood was it?_ Unsteadily, she rose, and slunk out towards the girls’ toilets. When she had finished washing the mysterious blood from her hands, she walked into the common room, which was beginning to fill with people.Glancing at the clock, she noticed that it was dinner time, and that they should all be in the hall for the feast. It seemed the whole of Slytherin house was now in the very crowded common room. 

“If everyone will please calm down,” a prefect was saying, his voice rising over the chattering crowd, “The feast will arrive soon.”

Ginny wondered what had happened. 

“Oh Draco, why did you say that?” Pansy Parkinson whimpered, “They’re going to suspect you!”

“I was only saying what the rest of you lot were thinking,” he replied, “Besides, it’s true.Mudbloods will be next.”

Ginny looked towards him with curiosity, but figured that he was not her safest bet for a good answer. Scanning the crowd, she found Mildred Peebles. 

“Mildred!” she said, approaching the other first year, “What’s happened? I fell asleep by mistake and missed the feast.”

Mildred looked surprised that Ginny was speaking to her, which Ginny figured was probably fair, considering that was probably the longest sentence she’d ever spoken to any of her dormitory mates since their first night at Hogwarts.

“Well, you haven’t missed the feast, at least. There’s been some sort of attack,” she replied, fiddling nervously with her braid, “Filch’s awful cat, Mrs. Norris. Something’s happened to her, I don’t know what, but she looked dead.And she was found next to a message on the wall, ‘the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.’ It was written in blood.”

Ginny looked down at her fingers, where she had just washed the blood from underneath her nails. _Whose blood?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malfoy is nosy and there are a lot of coincidental common room run ins.

Something was wrong with Ginny Weasley. Draco Malfoy was sure of it. Not that she hadn’t been odd before, swinging between stoic silence and raging outbursts (at least in his presence), writing words that never appeared in her diary, and of course, the original oddity of her being a Weasley sorted into Slytherin. No, since Halloween and the attack on Mrs. Norris, Weasley had been properly strange. While before she had been purposefully avoiding eye contact with everyone in Slytherin, as well as her family in Gryffindor, she now roamed the halls with a blank expression on her face, and a strange emptiness in her eyes. On the rare occasion that she wasn’t glazed over, she looked like she was on the verge of tears. Of course, she wasn't the only student looking worried these days. After Mrs. Norris was petrified, Draco saw an increasing number of students hurrying around the castle gripping their wands tightly, as if the heir of Slytherin was lurking outside of the classes, waiting for them to finish. 

Draco, for one, was not worried. He was a proud pure-blood, and knew that if indeed this were Slytherin’s monster at work, that he would be safe. Who Slytherin’s heir was, well, that was a mystery to him, though he desperately wanted to know. He had written to his father, informing him of the attack, and asking if he knew anything, but his reply only confirmed that the chamber had been opened before, not who had opened it. Though he longed to know more, his time was woefully constrained by Marcus Flint’s grueling training schedule ahead of Slytherin’s match against Gryffindor. 

It wasn’t like Malfoy was nervous, exactly. It was just that, loathe as he was to admit it, Potter was a better flyer than him, a fact that filled Draco with a bubbling rage. Add to that that it was his first time playing quidditch in front of a crowd this big, well, maybe he was a little nervous. He tried to empty his mind of everything except for Flint’s tactical plans as he made his way into the changing rooms, where the rest of the Slytherin team was waiting for him. 

“Ready, Malfoy?” Flint asked him as Draco began to put on his kit. 

“Of course,” he scoffed, his voice full of false bravado. 

“Then let’s get going.”

The team grabbed their Nimbus 2001’s and headed out onto the pitch, the crowd roaring overhead. Draco spotted Potter immediately and bared a grin at him that he hoped was intimidating. The players took their positions, and before he knew it, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the game began.   
—  
“IF YOU SPENT LESS TIME WORRYING ABOUT UPSTAGING HARRY BLOODY POTTER AND MORE TIME PAYING ATTENTION TO WHERE THE SNITCH WAS, MAYBE YOU WOULD ACTUALLY UPSTAGE HIM!” bellowed Marcus Flint, spit flying from his mouth.

They were heading back up to the castle, and Draco had already endured over an hour of Flint’s rage following their loss to Gryffindor. He felt as deflated as Potter’s arm.

“THERE WAS A ROGUE BLUDGER TARGETING HIM AND YOU STILL COULDN’T FIND AN OPPORTUNITY TO USE THAT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE? YOUR PETTY RIVALRY JUST COST US AN ENTIRE MATCH, MALFOY! THAT COULD BE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN US WINNING AND LOSING THE CUP!”

Draco had no reply, knowing that Flint was not one to be cowed by his sneering remarks, and that he couldn’t go to his father since he would probably be just as furious. 

Flint stormed ahead once they were inside, and as Draco passed the staircase leading to the hospital wing, Ginny Weasley emerged, looking worried. 

“What’s the matter, Weasley? Worried that Potter’s arm isn’t the only thing of his that’ll be flaccid forever?” he snapped nastily. 

She glared at him but didn’t reply. It was unlike her to not rise to the bait. 

“I’m surprised your idiot brother let you anywhere near him anyways, considering he’s been avoiding you like a nasty case of Dragon Pox,” he continued, spite bubbling up inside of him. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said, her voice low and angry, “You’re just angry because Harry’s a better quidditch player than you’ll ever be.”

“Potter got lucky,” Draco said, far too quickly. He could taste how untruthful his words were. 

“Lucky?” Weasley said incredulously, “There was a bludger trying to kill him and you still couldn’t catch the snitch! Pathetic!”

Weasley was right, he was pathetic, but there was no way that he would admit that to her, so he shut his mouth and continued walking. They walked several paces apart the whole way to the common room, and once they were inside, Weasley turned around to glare at him again, and hurried off to the girls’ dormitories. 

—  
It was a miserable evening for Draco. The only people who weren’t shunning him were Crabbe and Goyle, and they weren’t exactly the best company. Even Pansy looked at him with something that bordered on contempt. By the time everyone had gone to bed Draco was beginning to wonder if this is how Weasley felt all the time. He shrugged off this inkling of empathy, and went to bed. 

Sleep did not come. It grew late, and he played the match over and over again in his head, his feelings of embarrassment growing each time. With a frustrated sigh, he kicked off his blankets and slid out of bed and made his way quietly to the common room. 

It wasn’t empty. Weasley was sitting on the couch, her arms wrapped around her small body as she sobbed violently. 

Could she really be that worried about Potter? Draco thought. Or was she still upset about being in Slytherin? 

He wondered if she was in here every night, crying like this. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, he felt uneasy intruding upon it, and made to leave the common room before she had noticed he was there. 

“Malfoy?” Weasley’s voice was soft, and thick with tears. 

He sighed and turned around.

“Yes, Weasley?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep. But I’ll leave you alone,” he said, hoping that he didn’t sound too sympathetic. 

“You don’t have to,” she said quietly, “I know you’ve had a rubbish day.”

Draco hid his surprise well. 

“You know, Weasley, I’m surprised you haven’t tried to hex me yet today. It must be a record for you,” he said, though he said it without any real malice. 

“Don’t tempt me, Malfoy,” she muttered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. 

“Might cheer both of us up, get back to normal,” he said. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why, but hesitantly, Draco made his way across the room to her. Still in her robes from the day, Weasley’s eyes were vacant, and though he wouldn’t dare to touch her, Draco could tell that her skin was icy. He sat down beside her on the couch. 

“Why do you carry that thing around with you all the time if it’s blank, anyways?” he asked, gesturing to the diary that sat in her lap. 

A horrified expression flitted across her face for a split second. If he had blinked, he would have missed it, for in an instant, Weasley’s face was strangely vacant again. 

“It’s my diary.”

“It’s blank.”

“To you, maybe,” she said simply.

Draco paused. He could tell that she wouldn’t say anything further on the subject and that there would be no use in pressing her. It would only lead to a fight. 

“Why are you in Slytherin, Weasley?” he asked instead.

She looked up at him and stared. 

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“How can you not know?”

“It told me that I was prideful and ambitious and those were Slytherin traits, and that I would do well anywhere but for whatever reason Slytherin would be best,” she said, “It didn’t elaborate and I couldn’t fight it.”

She fixed him with a scrutinizing look. 

“Why do you care anyways?” she asked him. 

“I don’t,” he said cooly, “It’s just an oddity. A Weasley, in Slytherin?”

She grimaced.   
“An oddity.”

They sat in an awkward silence. Draco stared at the remains of the evening’s fire, its embers almost green in the lake-tinged light. He wasn’t used to being quiet with other people. Certainly not with Weasley. 

Their silence was disturbed when Snape hurried into the common room. Draco turned around to see the potions master, who looked rather concerned and out of breath. 

“Professor?” he said questioningly. 

Snape eyed the two of them sitting on the couch. 

“While I am thrilled to see that Miss Weasley is not attempting to hex you again, I must ask that you return to your beds,” Snape said. 

“Why, Professor?" Draco said, his voice verging on whining. 

“While that may be true, Mr. Malfoy, I regret to inform you that there has been another attack, and Professor Dumbledore has requested that all heads of house ensure that their students are safely in bed.”

“Another attack, sir? But surely here in Slytherin we would be safe,” Draco said. 

“Unless, Mr. Malfoy, you would like to confess to being the heir of Slytherin,” Snape said, “I should not think it up to you to decide who is and is not safe from this supposed monster.”

Draco glowered at Snape; he had always had a good relationship with the professor, but maybe Snape, like the rest of Slytherin, was still furious with Draco for his performance in the quidditch match. 

“Of course, sir,” Draco said, “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight,” Snape said, crossing his arms as Draco stood up. 

“Miss Weasley, I was speaking to you as well.”

Weasley had remained rooted to the couch, and was shaking slightly. 

“Come on, Weasley, time for bed,” Draco said. 

She blinked slowly and stood, her body still shaking. She followed Draco towards the dormitories, and did not say goodbye as she disappeared into the first year girls’ room.   
—  
It appeared that the second attack had spurred the Weasley clan to attempt repairing their relationship their youngest sibling. A few days after Creevey had been petrified, Draco spied the Weasley twins hurrying to catch up with their sister in an outdoor corridor. He got as close as he could without being seen. 

“Hey Gin,” said one of them (Draco couldn’t tell them apart), “Nice to finally catch you.”  
“We’ve been trying for a while now, but it seems our little sister is as slippery as we taught her to be,” said the other.

“It’s just that we’ve been watching you, and you seem a bit blue.”

“And we were worried that maybe all this Chamber of Secrets, heir of Slytherin stuff was getting you down.”“And I know that we may have been a tad derelict in our duties, but as your older brothers you know that it’s our job to make sure our little sister is never down in the dumps.”

Weasley almost smiled.

“Listen, sis, I know that you think we’ve rejected you for this whole getting sorted into Slytherin business, but really, we’ve been waiting for you to come round.”

“After your little tiff with Ron, we tried to get ahold of you to reassure you of our brotherly affections.”

“And to let you know that we think Ron will come round eventually. He’s just a bit pig-headed about these things.”

Weasley nodded, seeming to be unable to speak. 

“We’ll let you get on with your day then, but don’t be a stranger, Gin.”

They patted her shoulder simultaneously, and headed off, leaving Weasley to stare after them. Draco retreated from his hiding spot, and made his way to the dueling lessons that Professor Lockhart was putting on in the Great Hall, which everyone was eagerly looking forward to.   
—  
The dueling lesson itself had been useless, owing to Lockhart’s chronic inability to do anything competently. However, the revelation that Potter could speak to snakes, and the subsequent conviction amongst the rest of the students that he was the heir of Slytherin (a ridiculous notion if you asked Draco), was as entertaining as it was intriguing. Draco himself was back in Snape’s good graces it seemed, and by the time Justin Finch-Fletchley and the Gryffindor ghost had been attacked, his father had sent him another owl, informing him that he and his mother would be traveling over the Christmas holidays and that he should put his name down to stay at Hogwarts. 

Draco convinced Crabbe and Goyle that they too should stay over the holidays, though the thought of those two being his only regular human contact for the whole break was more than a little disheartening. On the last day of term, after who was going home, which was most of Slytherin, had left, he returned with Crabbe and Goyle to the Slytherin common room, to find Weasley sitting curled up in an armchair, writing in her diary, looking unhappy. 

“What’s the matter, Weasley,” Draco asked, “Did your family ban you from Christmas for being a Slytherin?”

She didn’t look up. 

“Well, if I were you I’d prefer to stay here over the holidays as well. My father tells me that your family all sleeps in one room,” he tried again.

Draco was unsure of why he was trying to get a rise out of her; they had been getting along relatively peaceably since that night he had found her crying in the common room. 

“Did your family ban you from Christmas for being an insufferable prat?” she replied, still without looking up. 

Draco grinned. With Weasley around to needle, maybe Christmas wouldn’t be so boring after all. 

—

“Pure-blood!” Draco said, and the wall leading into the common room slid open. 

He entered, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, who he had found wandering the dungeons aimlessly after Christmas dinner. 

“Wait here, I’ll go and get it—my father’s just sent it to me,” he told them, and went to grab the clipping that his father had sent him in the post that morning. It was an article about Weasley’s father, who had been fined for bewitching a Muggle car, “That’ll give you a laugh.”

He had been trying to work out some good insults to throw at Weasley all day, but he hadn’t seen her at all, nor had he run into any of her brothers, other than the Prefect, and he still needed to iron out their specifics. 

“Well?” he said, “Don’t you think it’s funny?” 

As Goyle gave a half-hearted laugh, Weasley entered the common room, wearing a dark green knit jumper that looked very homemade. 

“Weasley, come here! Have you seen this yet?” he called, beckoning her over, “Your family loves Muggles so much that it’s a miracle you ended up in Slytherin.”

She peered down at the article and then glared at him. Strangely, so did Crabbe. 

“What’s up with you, Crabbe?” he asked

“Stomach ache.”  
“Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me. You know, I’m surprised-“

With a puff of smoke, and a loud crack, Draco found himself knocked to the ground, Weasley standing over him with her wand out. 

“Don’t use that word, Malfoy!” she said, gritting her teeth. 

“Merlin, calm down Weasley!”

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting there, looking between Draco and Weasley with bewilderment. Weasley had threatened him countless times, but she’d never actually hexed him before, and her spell had been surprisingly strong. Maybe she wasn’t as weak as she looked, Malfoy thought as he raised himself from the ground. Fat lot of good Crabbe and Goyle were; weren’t friends supposed to stand up for you?

“It’s a shame that Slytherin’s monster doesn’t target blood-traitors as well as, Weasley. I’d be so grateful to have you out of my hair.”

Draco knew he was pushing his luck; Weasley had already hexed him and he knew that she would do it again if he kept at it. 

“Although if the monster got you, people would stop thinking it was Potter out there attacking people—as if!” he laughed. 

Crabbe and Goyle leaned forward. 

“I wish I knew who it was,” he said, “I could help them.”

“You must have some idea who’s behind it all…” Goyle said, and Draco scowled at him. 

“You know I haven’t Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you. And father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either.” Honestly, those two were so dim sometimes that Draco thought he might be better off talking to a wall. 

Weasley made a small noise that sounded like a pained groan. Draco looked at her, and saw that she looked queasy. He continued speaking, trying to ignore her. 

“The only thing I know is that the last time it was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s only a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time…I hope it’s Granger,” he added, grinning at Crabbe and Goyle, who looked uncomfortable. 

Glancing over at Weasley, he saw how unsteady on her feet she was, and all fears that she might hex him again evaporated. Instead, he felt an inkling of worry that she might actually pass out. 

Crabbe made a noise like a dog’s bark, and both he and Goyle leapt to their feet. 

“Medicine for my stomach,” Crabbe grunted, and the two of them dashed from the common room. 

Draco stared after them, wondering at their strange behavior. Weasley was still standing there looking ill. 

“Maybe you should join them in the hospital wing,” Draco said, “You look like rubbish.”  
The glazed look vanished from her face and she frowned at him. 

“Why do you say such horrible things, Malfoy?” she asked him, before storming off. 

Draco was left alone in the common room. He reflected on what a strange girl Weasley was. Sometimes, she was full of fight, ready to hex him or shout at him. Other times, she was as silent as a corpse, with facial expressions to match. She oscillated between one and the other to no discernible pattern, and it infuriated Malfoy. He was sure that there was something up with her; how else would a Weasley be in Slytherin? The fact was that she was a mystery, one that intrigued Draco beyond his normal nosiness. He wasn’t sure why he said things that he knew would upset her, though it wasn’t exactly like he wanted to be her friend.

He stood up from his spot on the couch and returned to his dormitory, still thinking about the peculiarities of Ginny Weasley.   
—  
The Christmas holidays passed slowly. Weasley was avoiding the Slytherin common room, and each time Draco saw her in the corridors, she looked increasingly distressed. By the time that term had started back up, she looked to be on the verge of collapse. 

It was late January, and Draco was lounging aimlessly in the common room, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to return from detention with Professor Sprout. The entrance slid open, and Weasley hurried in. Her face was tear-stained, her hair a mess, but her eyes were less vacant than Draco had observed them in the past. 

She barged past him and straight into the girls’ bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. 

“What’s got into her?” asked Flora Carrow, “That’s more energy than she’s shown in weeks.” 

Her sister Hestia shrugged, and went back to her book.

When Weasley finally re-emerged, she looked much calmer than Draco had seen her in months. Her hair was damp from the shower, and she was wearing her green jumper over her Holyhead Harpies pajamas. She was carrying a book that was, Draco was surprised to see, not her little black diary. Sinking into an empty armchair, she opened her book and began to read. The strangeness of this mundane display had caught not only his attention, but several other Slytherins, who were also staring at Weasley as if it were the first time they had ever seen her. 

“What’s got you looking so happy, Weasley?” he said, leaning over from his couch, “Potter look at you?”

She smiled, possibly the first genuine (though tiny) smile she had made the entire school year, but didn’t say anything. Draco shrugged. 

“Keep your secrets, Weasley,” he said, “It makes you more interesting.”  
—  
It was Valentine’s day, and Draco had seen enough of Lockhart’s cupid-dwarves in his classes to provide him with ammunition against half his year. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the delight of finding Potter, surrounded by a group of Slytherin first years, tousling with one of the dwarves, his things strewn across the floor. The dwarf finished singing, and a feeling of utmost glee began to sweep over Draco. Potter was as red as Weasley’s hair, and Weasley, who to Draco’s delight, was looking just as mortified, staring on in horror at the scene. 

The Prefect Weasley was ushering the students back to class and Draco was about to be on his way when he spotted it. It looked like Ginny Weasley’s diary, on the ground, amongst Potter’s things. What was Potter doing with that? 

He leant down and picked it up off the ground, glancing back at Weasley, who stood behind Crabbe and Goyle. The expression of fear on her face confirmed that it was her’s. Draco’s eyes narrowed. 

“Give that back,” Harry said, his voice low. 

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” he said, sneering, but keeping his eyes on Weasley, who was frozen to her spot. She knew that he knew it was her’s. 

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said the Prefect Weasley. 

“When I’ve had a look,” he said, waving the diary, knowing perfectly well that if he were to open it, he would find nothing but blank pages inside. 

Before he knew it, though, Potter was shouting, “Expelliarmus!” and the diary flew out of his hand and into Ron Weasley’s. He shouted out in anger. 

The scene began to disperse, and Malfoy, who was still fuming, yelled at Weasley as she passed him. 

“I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!”

She covered her face and hurried into class, not looking at him. Her brother moved as if to attack Draco, but Potter stopped him before he could. 

Stalking off, Draco glowered thinking about Ron Weasley, who hadn’t so much as looked at his sister in months, ready to hex him for having a go at her for that awful Valentine. It surprised him, really, that Weasley would have enough nerve to send that to Potter in the first place. But maybe there was more going on there than he had initially surmised. After all, how had Potter come to have her diary in his schoolbag? And why was he so reluctant to give it up?

—  
A week later, Draco came across Weasley, who was sprinting down the corridor towards the Slytherin common room, clutching her bag to her body. She didn’t reply as he called after her, asking what the hurry was. He shrugged and continued on his way out. 

Later that evening, when she saw him returning to the common room, she hurriedly stuffed a book that she had been writing in back into her bag. In the instant that Draco saw it, it looked an awful lot like her little black diary. She bolted from the common room before he could question her about it. He could ask her about it at breakfast, then. 

But she was nowhere to be seen at breakfast the next day. He kept his eyes peeled as he left the Great Hall, but saw nothing of interest except for Granger sprinting away up the staircase.   
—  
Professor Snape informed the Slytherins of the attack on Granger and some Ravenclaw girl who Draco didn’t know, and he felt an uneasiness settle in his stomach. Weasley, who was standing on the opposite side of the common room, gripped the back of a chair for support. She fled off to her dormitory as soon as Snape was finished, and Draco stared intently after her, recalling what he had said to her about Granger at Christmas.   
—  
The weeks passed slowly and Draco became more and more fed up with the increased security around the school. It was so bothersome having to be back in the common room by six, especially now that the days were getting longer and the weather getting nicer. 

It was the end of May, and exams were right around the corner. The common room was busy until the small hours of the morning with students trying to study, Draco among them. One night, as the room gradually emptied, Draco found himself alone with Weasley, who had fallen asleep, her head resting on her transfiguration notes. He jumped as she began muttering in her sleep. 

“Please don’t make me,” she said, her words soft and slurred, “Please let me stop.”

Draco didn’t move a muscle, waiting for her to speak again. 

“Please.”

That was all she said, though Draco waited until she had woken with a start before he left. 

In the morning, after McGonagall announced that those who had been petrified would be revived that night, Weasley looked concerned, rather than elated. He watched as she rose from the Slytherin table and, with a grim expression on her face, made her way to where Potter and her brother were sitting at the Gryffindor table. Draco got up and moved to sit next to Theo Nott, who was sitting alone behind Potter. 

“What’s up?” Weasley’s brother asked.

She didn’t reply, and Malfoy wondered if she was making that face where it looked like she was somewhere between almost vomiting and passing out. 

“Spit it out,” her brother said harshly. 

“I’ve got something to tell you,” Weasley said after a moment, her voice quiet. 

“What is it?” said Potter. 

Silence. 

“What?” Ron said, his tone annoyed. 

Draco heard Potter say something, but couldn’t make out the words, and before Weasley could reply, the Prefect Weasley interrupted them. She shot up and bolted from the hall. Draco rose as well, uninterested in what else those two prats had to say. 

He saw her again after lunch, looking deathly pale and unsteady on her feet. She walked slowly, without turning to look at him as she passed. 

“Weasley!” he called after her, and hurried to cut her off. 

She looked up at him with lifeless eyes. 

“What?” she said, with so much venom in her voice that he took a step back. 

“Nothing…” he mumbled, and stepped out of her way. She continued on as if he had not stopped her at all. 

Later, as McGonagall’s magically magnified voice echoed throughout the school, informing all students to return to their dormitories, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, though he couldn’t say why. 

As he made his way to the common room, he passed through the second floor corridor, and saw a new message painted below the heir of Slytherin’s first warning: Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. His dread grew. 

Some time later, Snape returned to the common room to address his house. 

“As you may have surmised, there has been another attack,” he said, “A member of our house, Ginevra Weasley, has been taken.”

A murmur of shock passed through the common room; though there was no love for Weasley, the thought that a pure-blood (blood-traitors though her family were) could be targeted was alarming news. Or maybe they had all grown used to Weasley’s odd presence throughout the year, whether or not they ever acknowledged her. Draco felt a wave of anxiety fill his body.

“Hogwarts will be closed until further notice,” Snape continued, “And you will all be returning home to your families tomorrow. You will take your dinner here tonight, and pack your things. And under no circumstances will you leave Slytherin without the accompaniment of a teacher. Is that clear?”

The students nodded. Draco was still trying to calm himself down. He didn’t know why he was so anxious all of a sudden. It wasn't like he and Weasley were even friends. They had had one conversation that hadn’t been overtly antagonistic. And yet, the thought of Weasley’s small body, lying broken on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets turned his stomach more than he cared to admit. 

Snape left the students, who immediately broke into excited and terrified conversation. Mildred Peebles was crying. 

“Oh, poor Ginny!” she sobbed, “If only-“

“If only what?” interrupted Flora Carrow, “If only we’d spent more time with her, that would have stopped Slytherin’s monster from getting her?”

Mildred looked down at the floor. 

“If you ask me,” said Hestia, “It’s no more than what she deserved, the dirty little blood traitor. Besides, I’m pleased to be shot of her. All she did was cry and talk nonsense in her sleep.”

Draco felt a strange surge of anger bubble up inside of him, but then remembered what he had said to Weasley at Christmas, which had been basically the same thing. He felt himself fill with shame. 

“Oh, do shut up Hestia,” Amy Frome snapped, “Show a little respect.”

Hestia rolled her eyes at her, but said no more. Desperately wishing that he could go for a walk to relieve some of this tension, Draco returned to his dormitory, where he paced back and forth. Why on earth would Slytherin’s monster take Weasley? And why on earth did he care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking such a long time to update!! Hope you enjoy, not completely happy with this as it feels a bit fragmented but oh well!


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